The Ticking Of Time
by KKBELVIS
Summary: A series of MS for the episode Shootout. HC and angst in both men's pov.
1. Chapter 1

THE TICKING OF TIME

Part one

By: Karen B

Summary: Shootout snippet

Hutch's thoughts while he waits at the table for Starsky to make his pitcher -- pitch.

Thank you to Laura for her spirit and friendship. She is always so thoughtful and willing to share herself with others!

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"What should I do?" The lady said, her angry words as fiery as her hair. "Call a cop?"

Sparing the glitzy well-built lady a glance, I sucked in a breath as she walked away. Guess she had all cops pegged as weak and mousy. I felt a chill surround me. Sure, I was scared, but not for myself.

The tension in my back strained my muscles, and I shifted only my eyes to monitor the room.

Waiting.

Watching.

Waiting.

I had to know where everyone was positioned when this went down. I had to be fast and strong, especially when I came up against the Wild Man. I would have to be an immovable force, like the wind. The pressure was bad. I was all that was standing between my partner, the civilians, and a bloodbath.

Five minutes to get into position.

I didn't want to leave Starsky, but I had done everything I could for him and I had other people to consider. I rolled my neck to loosen the crick, and deliberately took a glance at the Wild Man who'd put a bullet in my partner. He lounged in his chair like he had all the time in the world. I swore to God, just looking at the asshole made me wish I had my .357 so he could know how it feels to have a hole blown in your back.

Sitting across from Joey was the intelligence of the operation. I bet he was a good tipper, but mostly I bet he was as cool as an alpine breeze. Briefly, I wondered how such a brainless unprofessional like Joey ended up with such a by-the-book killer? My guess was the big man with the brains - and my gun - didn't have the guts to take on someone as powerful as Vic Monty by himself. I shivered, feeling this guy's coldness down to my bones. After he took care of Monty, Boss Man wouldn't hesitate to take care of the rest of us loose ends.

I readjusted my position. Feet flat on the floor, back ramrod straight against my chair, as I glanced again at the clock. Time was running out. When time runs, where does it run to? Time is a strange creature. It flies when you're having fun and it runs slow when a piece of deadly metal is embedded in your partner's back.

Every school kid learns how to tell time, but as an adult you start to think of its paradox. Could time go on forever? Right now it felt that way. Was there an end to time? Could someone break time? Turn the hands back? Back to when we first walked through those lousy doors of this Italian restaurant? Was the clock I glared at now running slow or fast? Between unfocused eyes and shaking, bloodstained fingers, I had pulled at the chain of my pocket watch and synchronized it with that very clock on the wall. Starsky had my watch now, and we both knew timing was everything.

Would Vic and his boys show up early or late for their linguine? How could I get time to stop? Get my partner's bleeding to stop? Get him help now, before time ran out?

I never was a clock-watcher, until tonight.

Fourteen to twelve wasn't coming soon enough!

My fingertips just barely touched the checkered tablecloth, and I noted the coloring of Starsky's blood on them looked like the color of wine. I felt a cool drop of sweat fall from my brow and splash onto my hand, washing away a small streak of that stain. In the corner of my mind I heard the ticking of the clock and studied its numbers, even as they screamed in my ear. The ticking -- it was counting down the minutes. The hands -- they were ticking away the seconds, ticking away our odds, ticking away my partner's life. Each passing moment stroked my fear.

_"Do it. And make a lot of racket," _I had told my seriously wounded partner.

What kind of scheme was that?

Each tick of the clock was telling me I was a suicidal nut job.

Did I really think I could trip the bad guy? Have his gun slip from his hand, and heroically save the day just like in the movies? I was so sorry I didn't notice these guys when I first came into the joint. What kind of detective was I?

Oh, man, get it together, Hutchinson, you're the only one who is going to get us out of here.

**The clock ticked on…**

Four minutes to go.

I glanced over to the next table at the Vegas-bound comic. I had overheard parts of his conversation with the red head, and it really made me feel sorry for the guy.He looked scared, but mostly he looked sad. I had to say he was holding it together rather well. I'm sure it wasn't everyday he was a hostage in a bistro. Even I get a little shaky in the aftermath of a shootout, especially the ones where my partner gets hit. Sammy caught my eye and I held his gaze for a moment before looking back at the clock.

The waiting was getting worse and worse, time was running, and I was worried. My gaze flicked away from the clock and fell to the bloodstains on the carpet. I followed the trail of drops where my partner had bled across the floor as I carried him to the office.

I anxiously watched the open doorway. Starsky was back there all by himself with blood leaving his body. When I left him, his eyes were dark with pain, and his face was pale. What if he had passed out? How could I take these guys on my own? No! Can't think like that. Starsky is fierce in his duty, and in his protection of me. He is everything a partner and friend should be. He'll do this. He'll come through. He'd risk everything, even his life to back me up. But what was I asking of him?

Heaving a sigh, I shuddered. Fact was, Starsky was weak, and even though that pitcher was small he was going to have a hell of a time throwing the first pitch, as he put it.

I thought about his cold hand when my fingers brushed across his when I gave him my watch. I wasn't sure if Starsky was in shock, but I could sense the pain he was desperately trying to hold back. All I really knew was that he was bleeding badly, even after I'd plugged the hole in his back. He was trying to be tough, trying to back me up, but he was too weak to put up much of a fight should these guys get past me.

I started thinking about the consequences of my actions. Of what I was about to do. Pictures of crime scenes, gory in detail, vividly filled my head. If I didn't come through, there wouldn't be a piece of furniture or a spot on the wall that wouldn't have blood spray on it. When this shootout was finally over wine bottles would be broken, bullets would gouge holes in walls, chairs would be overturned, and all our bodies would be hung limply over them.

And then there was Starsky. I envisioned my best buddy lying on that ratty couch, with a neat little hole between his wide-open unseeing eyes; a third and final bullet coming from the black-steel gun of the boss man. I took in my own breath, and the odor of garlic made me feel nauseated. Squeezing my hands into fists, I tried forcing the feeling and the sickening images of a dead partner aside.

I'm a cop, but I'm also human. The romantic notion the good guys always win doesn't always hold.

I was dealing with a whole set of emotions. Fear. Worry. Panic. But namely, it was the anger that was welling up inside me that was getting higher, making my heart race, making my breathing rapid as I fed more oxygen to the inferno inside. I glanced impatiently around. It really was a quaint little restaurant, with its friendly staff, red checked tablecloths, and plastic vineyard. Even the clock had seemed to roll out the welcome mat when we first arrived. Now, the damn thing only mocked me and my effort to save all our lives. It was as if I had wronged the timepiece in some way. Possibly, I had given it a speeding ticket punishing time for cruising along too fast down the interstate of life.

"Hey, Hutch," Starsky's voice rang in my ears. "Next time you want scrambled eggs -- don't let me talk you out of it, huh?"

His voice had been faint, and scratchy, full of pain. I played the scene in that office out in my head. Starsky's weak hand, fumbling, finally finding and gripping my knee. Me, huddled over him, clutching fistfuls of cloth, trying to hold back the blood. His body tensing beneath my every touch. My palm on his shoulder, unable to take away what I was guessing to me a sweeping pain. The touch of a moist cloth against parched lips giving him what little comfort I could offer. His unhealthy skin color, and those knowing blue eyes, seeing the glint of fear in my own.

'Next time.' Those two choice words were meant to soothe and comfort. He had that much faith in me.

I glanced down at my bloodstained fingers twitching on the checkered tablecloth, and felt that twitch move into my belly. I had sugarcoated the truth. Told him it'd only been a shoulder wound. In reality, Starsky was vulnerable, still bleeding under those towels, the sharp ache in his back trying to drown him in darkness. In my mind I could still see those eyes of his full of fatigue, full of pain.

Shit. What was I thinking?

I braced a hand to the chairs armrest, and started to push upward to move into action. I had to get to my partner and take back the pitcher, take back the moronic plan.

"Blow it out your ear, Hutchinson!" I heard my partner's powerful voice in my head.

Starsky and I have a unique relationship. Even when we're not together we know what the other is thinking. Sometimes, even what the other is doing, and right now those same fatigue filled eyes from only a moment ago were now full of passion and intense focus. The imagery rushed courage through my head, my veins, my groin. I had the balls to do this!

I glanced at the clock. Trust your partner. Be patient, Hutchinson. I eased back down.

The clock seemed to mock me. Telling me I would pay dearly for trying to control the hands of time. I forced myself to stay strong, and get my head back in the game.

**The clock ticked on….**

In three minutes all hell's fire would erupt like a volcano shooting flames high into the air and I'd be in the middle of it all. The clock on the wall continued to ridicule me. Time was a charade, its hands stretching outward, moving slowly. I could hear it. Not the usual tick-tock sound, but like a voice, in my head. Telling me how stupid I was. Questioning my judgment. Asking me with utter conviction, "Aren't you going to do something? You're a cop aren't you? What were you thinking? Asking a man with a bullet in his back to help? You're going to get yourself, your partner, and all these innocent folks in here killed." The voice in my head continued to tick, and I wondered if it was right, if I was guilty as charged.

The clock on the wall was telling me I shouldn't be here. I felt like I was trapped inside a glass cage. One false move and it would all come crashing down. I would need split second timing to pull this off. I would have to respond to my partner's diversion. I followed the hands of the clock as they moved again. Eggs. We should have been home eating eggs. I cursed stubborn partners everywhere. You're in this mess because he wanted dinner. Not breakfast.

I watched the clock; it was still too early. Hold on, partner, it's only a few more minutes until I can get these out-of-state killers under wraps.

I sighed deeply. I had a job to do and I intended on doing it, but I could feel the panic rising up inside of me.

Problem was, these guys weren't going to roll over with their hands in the air when Starsky made his first pitch. A smoke blossom of gunfire would fill the air. How was one off-duty, unarmed cop going to protect all these people and one wounded partner?

My mind was racing, jumping from here to there. When I get thrown face down into the dirt, I get up without dusting myself off, put a boot into the stirrup and spur that horse. I don't give up even when I am afraid.

Somehow, I cast aside the last of my fear. Leaving no more room for doubt, I steeled my mind and body for what was about to go down. I was angrier than I'd ever been in my life. So angry it almost frightened me, but I knew anger was not a bad thing. Anger is an extremely powerful emotion, and properly directed -- it was what was going to get us all out of this mess.

I could feel a ball of hissing black snakes suddenly start to squirm restlessly in my gut where only a moment ago there was a twitch.

I was committed and whatever happened, I was going to make sure I got my partner out in one piece.

**The clock ticked on...**

Three minute warning bells went off in my head.

Out of my peripheral vision I watched Joey dumbly try to put the moves on the lady. Boss Man was completely unfazed by their flirtatious display. He was staring right at me with a face of stone, like a Doberman who had the drop on the scrawny neighborhood cat. Guy was a real professional, and he knew the cardinal rule: never take your eye off the cop.

He would kill us all, quickly and effciently and --

"We could throw the cop out of the office," Joey said, slamming a hammer down on my thoughts and squashing them.

Time tested me -- I guaranteed if Wild Man made one move toward that office to lay one stinking finger on Starsky he'd find himself lying face-down in a puddle of his own blood!

I waited for Joey to make his move. Time slowed further as I listened to the storm rage outside. I could hear the rain banging a beat on the roof. But there was another storm, a hidden fury building inside of me. The violent pressure had been growing since this whole thing began and now was stronger than anything Mother Nature could conjure up.

A cool rush of air pushed and pulled inside of me, rain fell in sheets, wind slashed against glass windowpanes threatening to crash in, and lightning flashed bright in my heart.

Low whispers came from our waitress and the athletic guy at the bar. Theresa had a candy-colored world painted in her head, thinking this would all go away once Monty was dead. But the big rock she was talking to -- I could feel his infectious energy, and see it in the resolve of his squared shoulders -- he wasn't a man accustomed to being out of control. Just looking at him made the already frantic beats of my heart skip. He was no marshmallow, but brute strength wasn't going to win this battle. If he was dumb enough to put his toe in the water he wouldn't stop there, he'd jump right in. The mindless blow-up-and-bolt underdog move would only waste time. It would be my plan'ts downfall, as the big rock would only end up with a bullet burrowing into his skull, slathering his face in ketchup-red.

Time was a fragile thing. It's a cliché', but it marched on. Moment after moment, second after second, fusing to my bones. Time channeled its incessant tick-tock into my soul. Taunting me, giving me one damn fine excuse after another why this plan of mine wouldn't work.

I wanted to punch the fucking clock!

Knock

Knock

I flinched out of my reverie, taking my eyes off Father Time.

The lady was back. She had reached deep into Joey's heart, trying to hustle her way out of this, but came away with nothing, as he had dropped her faster than a used condom. I felt my jaw tighten. TheWild Man was smarter than I thought.

"Do you mind?" she asked, in a small voice that let me know she had lost some of her glitz and fire.

I waved a hand, offering her the empty chair next to me, praying my fire wouldn't burn out as fast as hers had.

End of part 1 of 4...TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

THE TICKING OF TIME

Part II

By: Karen B.

Summary: Starsky's thoughts just before he tosses the pitcher. MS: Shootout

Thank you, Laura. I feel so forutunate..you have shared so much of your time and friendship with me!

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"Do you think you can handle this? Heave it against that wall over there?"

Hutch's words were spinning around in my head. I gnawed at my lower lip as explosive jabs of pain made their way up and down my back and left arm.

Hugging the pitcher against my chest, I wanted to believe that the combined efforts of my partner and I could really pull this off. It was going to be tricky. The pain in my back was bad, and I still was feeling sick. Even though the pitcher was small, I knew it would take everything I had to make the first pitch, giving the thing enough momentum to hit the wall and make a lot of racket.

We both knew I was in a bad way. Hutch wouldn't let on though. He's the kind of guy who'd do anything for a friend. Do anything to save someone's life. It didn't surprise me to see him walk back into the restaurant with nothing more than a 'narrowly missed', possibly dying partner with a pewter water jug as his only backup.

Hutch was trying to show me by force of example that he wasn't scared. I knew otherwise. But even shaken and worried about me, that partner of mine could command a room full of crazed chimps if he had to. In this case it was a couple out-of-state killers. Even without his badge and his gun, Hutch kept his professional cool -- doing his job. I don't know if I could have done the same in his shoes.

Even off duty we're on duty. My eyes roamed around the office. The room was packed with junk, but nothing that I could use. What felt like razor blades bit into my back and made me dizzy, the room tilting at an odd angle. I almost dropped Hutch's pocket watch, but got hold of it before it could slip out of my fingers as they were starting to go numb on me. I decided I better set it on the floor before I did drop it and it rolled somewhere where I couldn't see it.

Dinner, not breakfast.

It would have been a great idea if it weren't for the super bad timing.

"Uh," I bit back a moan.

If the pain was bad before when Hutch was sticking his finger in the bullet hole, it was worse now.

I was worried about my best buddy. I was only kidding about the bad guys tripping and dropping their guns. My partner, he thinks he has a bag full of magic. Maybe one of the bad guys would trip and fall -- but not two.

I wasn't going to be much good to Hutch. Standing up was out of the question, my legs felt like the goopy jelly inside my morning donut, and every breath pulled at my wound.

My eyes started to slide shut. The shock was making me feel sleepy and I fought to keep them open, keeping focused on the time. So what do you do when you have to watch the hands of time slowly tick by while trying not to pass out from blood loss?

You lick your dry lips, take in deep breaths, and be thankful both your testicles are intact, 'cause you're gonna need them.

**The clock ticked on...**

Keeping my eyes on the watch, I listened to the heavy raindrops clatter against the small office window, every now and again seeing a flash of lightning. I felt so cold. The covers had fallen to the floor and I wanted to pick them up and pull them back over my body, but was too weak to try. I had to save my energy for the big pitch. Time, it was a strange and cruel thing. One minute you're ordering linguine with clams in a place that reminds you of your grandmother, the next minute you're on the floor with a bullet in your back.

I felt so helpless. Hutch was out there alone, and all I could do was lie here and bleed, holding onto this damn jug, trying not to take a siesta while watching time circle like a vulture over my head. A pocket watch and a jug. All I needed now was a shovel so I could tunnel my way out of here. If the Wild Man didn't pull the plug on the telephone I could have at least crawled to the phone and called in SWAT. Not how The Lone Ranger would have done it.

I stopped feeling cold and started feeling hot, still dizzy, and nauseated. Kinda wishing Hutch would come back with that awful tasting cool cloth, washing away these black dots prickling in front of my eyes --

"Ahhhhhhh."

My body jerked, and I opened one eye. "Shit."

How long was I out? Could have been a minute, an hour, a lifetime? Time? What time was it? Blinking to chase away the black dots, I hauled my head up just enough to take a peek at the time.

"Uhhh," I groaned inwardly. One minute. I was out one minute, that's sixty seconds gone.

The glow of lightning zigzagged a pattern in the sky, blurring my vision.

The jug had slipped from my grasp and lay next to me. I fumbled for a hold of it, and noticed not only the numbness in my fingers but in my hand and halfway up my arm as I guided my weapon back against my chest. My heart was beating faster than a runaway train.

One minute. Doesn't sound like a long time, but when your partner is counting on you, one minute could mean everything.

The wheel of time never stops. Time doesn't care if you need more of it. It just keeps pushing on. Turning round and round. Controlling everything you do. As I watch the seconds tick by I am mesmerized. It's like watching grains of sand flow through an hourglass. Speck by speck, second by second. Each minute gone forever, never to be taken back. Delaying only one minute -- I could be too late.

**Time ticked on…**

It would have been a perfect evening if it weren't for those pains in the ass. Why were two out-of-state killers sitting in a cozy little Italian restaurant this late? It was way past their bedtime. The name Vic Monty popped into my head. Things were out of whack. I couldn't get a grip on my thoughts. It was like someone had stuffed them into the bottom of a drawer, and every now and again that drawer would open and I'd remember.

I tried to play back the soundtrack in my mind, the noises when I was lying on the floor and everything was a buzz Everyone seemed to be dancing around the restaurant. I didn't hear much of what the bad guys were saying, only heard Hutch talking soft and soothing to me. I recalled him getting really mad, first in the restaurant, then back here.

"Get in here with that stuff!" He had shouted so loud I nearly pissed myself.

My partner, he won't go down without a fight. My heart beast faster as that thought scared me even more than his loud voice. Hutch won't stop. Won't keep his anger in check. It could get him killed. It's all my fault. I screwed up and got shot. I gotta pull this off. Can't let Hutch come back here to find a pitcher in a dead man's hand.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, and waited patiently for fourteen to twelve. Another minute ticked by. I waiedt some more. My eyes kept shutting and I could feel myself slipping away. I was getting angry at myself, angry at the whole damn eggs vs. linguine shit. Because of the job, we don't eat regular hours. Hutch would never eat linguine with clams for breakfast, so how could he expect me to want to eat eggs for dinner?

Hutch -- he and I should have been clinking our wine glasses, enjoying a good leisurely meal, and listening to free music. I don't like being behind enemy lines, hiding out of view. I tried really hard to listen to what was going on out there, allowing my senses to absorb every movement, every sound, but I couldn't make out any of the voices that swirled around me. My partner was out there alone, unarmed. Joey didn't look like he had too much upstairs, but the guy in the suit looked real efficient and business-like. He'd make certain the job got done right. A shuddering chill flew down my spine as if someone was scraping long nails down a chalkboard. What if gunfire started going off, and I couldn't get to Hutch? I wished I could see through walls. How was he going to take on two armed men by himself? He was running a high-risk operation on his own. What if a bullet blew through his chest, and he crumbled to the floor, dead?

I ran through my options, and could only come up with one that might work. After I made my pitch, I could monkey crawl to the front door, make my way to the Torino and call for backup. Right. That's what I would do, while Hutch hopefully kept thing number one and thing number two busy enough that they won't see me make my move.

The clock was counting down the minutes so slowly. With each passing second I could feel time sucking the energy from my body. I took in a couple deep breaths trying to take the edge off the pain, and desperately trying to stay fully aware.

This whole thing was crazy. These guys weren't mild-mannered street thugs, and they had no consciences. They were dangerous and to-the-letter accurate, and would kill us all. I was afraid, but my fear wasn't for my own life. Hutch entrusted me to stay in the picture. To serve and protect, even lying down, unable to stand.

Another minute had elapsed. My body was trembling, and my throwing arm felt like someone shot me up with an overdose of Novocaine.

"Uh." I winced, feeling a sharp pain in my back.

The bullet must have worked its way lower; no shoulder wound ever hurt this badly. I was icy cold again, and beneath the cloth Hutch had tied against my back my shirt was wet and sticky. I was still bleeding, and it was making me feel like I was going to throw up and never stop. But that didn't scare me half as much as not being able to do a damn thing to help him.

All I could do right now was try to keep my gaze fixed on the watch, and stay on guard.

**Time ticked on…**

I curled my shaky fingers around the handle of the jug, and gripped it as tightly as I could. I knew it was getting close but while studying Hutch's pocket watch the numbers began to dance and swap places, and I really wasn't sure about the time anymore. A minute too soon -- Hutch wouldn't be ready. A minute too late -- I didn't want to think about it. My mind started to drift.

I imagined Hutch standing straight and tall as he made his move. Getting in Joey's face, and in no uncertain terms tripping him, jerking his gun loose, and whacking Joey in the head with the butt end, becoming the hero everyone was counting on. Clutching tightly to the gun and not wasting any time, Hutch sidestepped the Wild Man's motionless body, and pointed his weapon at the guy with the ugly tie. The hit man spared my partner a wicked smile, then pulled the trigger.

In my nightmarish fantasy, time played out in slow motion as the bullet plowed right through my partner's forehead, out the back of his skull, and splattering blood all over the place. His six-foot-one frame crashing through a table before lying on his back, lifeless, blood gushing over the checkered tablecloth.

Dead. Hutch was dead.

Somehow I managed to yank myself from the nightmare, staring once again at the watch. Fourteen to twelve had just ticked past. I felt confused and alone, and in my arms I hugged a jug tightly against my middle. What was I supposed to do with it? Where was Hutch? I had something important to take care of. My pulse was racing, my body chilled and shivering. I heard arguing going on in the other room, and remembered what it was I was supposed to do.

My energy had drained like a balloon leaking air. I almost didn't make the throw, but at the last possible second, I drew the jug back. It took everything I had to keep from passing out. My grip wasn't too good, trembling fiercely, but I kept a hold of the handle, and chucked it, watching as it smashed against the wall.

I flopped back to the couch, knocked half senseless from the exertion, and I felt more blood pour from my wound. I tried to get up, desperate to get to Hutch, but I couldn't even turn my head, or catch my breath.

I thought I heard a gun go off and all I could think about was my partner under fire, that horrid image of him dead still haunting me. I continued to struggle, to get my body to move, but the pain was tearing me up and the office was spinning around me, as I found myself on the floor. I couldn't defend myself, much less Hutch. Couldn't keep my eyes open. They were almost completely shut, and I had stopped feeling any pain. If I could have pulled a shovel out of my ass and tunneled my way out of here, I would have gone for help.

I'll find a way to get to you, partner.

It was my last rational thought before darkness overtook me, dragging me under.

TBC

Part 3 of 4 coming soon. Thank you very much -- for your patience.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:

Thank you dearly, Laura -- for your endless patience and genuine encouragement!

Thank you dearly, the reader -- for your time. Time is precious, each passing minute is a minute we can never get back.

Thank you for sharing your minutes with me!

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THE TICKING OF TIME

TEN MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT

By: Karen B.

Summary: A Bonus chapter for 'The Ticking Of Time

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Starsky pov::::

"Hey," I said breathlessly, giving Hutch that 'come here, I want to tell you something,' gesture.

"Yeah? Right here." Hutch crouched down, and I could see the intense look of worry on his face. I needed to erase that worry.

I struggled to get the words out, not quit sure what to say to ease his concern. My struggling made Hutch lean closer, and I had to swallow a few times to find my voice.

"I'm hungry," I playfully teased, finally having found the words I needed.

Hutch patted my shoulder, and stood, and moved toward the office door.

Mission accomplished -- but hungry? Hungry, I wasn't. Good thing Hutch left my side, 'cause I was going to be sick, this time for real. Unfortunately for Hutch he hadn't gone far, he'd only poked his head out the office door.

"Everything okay out here?" Hutch asked.

That's my partner, still minding the store.

"You folks just sit tight and don't worry. Theresa, just let me know when the ambulance arrives," he anxiously said, in a strained tone.

Looking at Hutch right then, I saw all the things I loved about my best friend. His strength, his honor, and compassion, his -- I felt like my heart picked up speed, and tried to raise myself up slightly. The action must have made the bullet shift because suddenly my upper back muscles were on fire, like I'd done ten thousand and two jumping jacks.

Hutch was still babbling at someone when I turned my head away, slipped full tilt, gagged hard, and vomited onto the floor.

"Ohhh," I groaned inwardly, "that looks appetizing."

"Hey. Hey." I heard the near panic rise up in Hutch's throat -- felt his breath in my ear. "You okay?" Hutch was hunkered down real close by my side. "Can I help you sit back up?"

"I guess," I exhaled, as he eased me against the couch.

"How you feeling?"

"Little foggy," I muttered, feeling myself drifting off. "Time is it?" I asked.

"Ten minutes after midnight," Hutch quickly replied.

"You look worried." I closed my eyes.

"I'm not worried," I heard Hutch whisper.

"Good," I sighed. "'Cause you always did worry too much."

"You don't worry enough," Hutch countered, then was real quiet.

I forced one eye to open and peered up at him. Hutch was visibly shaking, moisture settling in those baby blues, and I felt the need to stay aware, distract my buddy.

"Everything's fine," I told him.

"Not quite everything." Hutch's tone was cynical.

I knew he was talking about me, and my bullet, but I had to change that.

Forcing my other eye open, I said, "They give you a hard time?"

Hutch hesitated before saying, "Nothing I couldn't handle, buddy."

"What happen?" I asked, as I attempted to change his thoughts. "What about Monty?"

"The man wanted linguine -- he would have been better off with liver and onions." Hutch tried to play along, but seeing me in trouble the way I was, he was barely holding it together like he had earlier on.

"Or scrambled eggs," I added. "And the other two?"

"Wild Man is dead. The suit and tie is cuffed with a graze to his shoulder, Theresa's got a gun on him."

"They never had a chance," I joked, as I struggled against the blackness that was trying to take me and hold me prisoner.

"You sure you're okay?" I heard Hutch's voice from afar, but I knew he was close, as fingers fumbled with the cloth against my back.

"Fine," I nodded.

It was a lie.

"Good." Hutch smiled.

My partner knew it was a lie -- but he went along with it anyway.

We stared at each other a few minutes and I could see my haggard reflection in Hutch's eyes. I felt a coldness take over my body and my vision gave way -- and I gagged. I wasn't feeling fire explode in my back like before, that was good. But my breath kept stalling, as I rode upon long waves of dizziness. I wanted to raise a hand toward Hutch, but I felt like ice cream melting. My stomach clenched at the thought of food, and I gagged again.

"Easy, now." Hutch must have taken me into his arms 'cause suddenly some of that coldness had left.

"No more eating, " I whispered my resolution into his chest.

"That's what you said the last time you threw up." Hutch gave a little laugh, or maybe it was a big laugh. I couldn't quit hear over the beehive buzzing in my ears.

"Yeah, I know," I coughed, and struggled to open my eyes -- but couldn't.

"And the time before that, Starsk."

"Mean it -- this time."

"Sure, partner. Hold on, Starsk, they're almost here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hutch pov::::

I left the scum out in the restaurant, only wanting to be with my partner now, wanting to shut everything else out. I sat next to Starsky, holding him close. Leaning my head against the couch I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. It'd only been a little over an hour since this whole thing started, but it felt like a lifetime already, and help still wasn't here.

"Dead? Hutch?" Starsky, said, choking and restlessly moving.

"It's over," I reminded softly, as I whispered into Starsky's ear, and for a moment he settled.

I pushed the hair away from his eyes. "That should help, pal," I said.

I snorted. What was I talking about? Nothing was going to help until that slug was out. I closed my eyes and shuddered, thinking of what could have happened.

So I kept us all from turning up dead. That didn't change the fact my partner didn't have a chance to escape the bullet that was forced into his back. I was really terrified. Ten minutes after midnight -- and he looked worse than ever.

The makeshift bandages were now soaked through with blood, and Starsky had fallen into a half-conscious state. I could feel him shivering. Could feel the cold slicing through him -- into me. He'd lost too much blood. Pulling the blankets tighter around him, I held him closer as I waited for the ambulance.

Waiting -- I never was very good at it. After this was all over, I think I might have to buy a half dozen alarm clocks, take them out behind Huggy's, and smash them with a hammer, followed by a half-dozen beers. All as a form of meditation, of course.

I looked down at Starsky. His curls were limp and damp, his face ghostly white. Checking his heart rate, I found it to be too fast, his breathing shallow.

"Damn it!" I looked up at the small office window. "Where are they?" I shouted, just as a flash of lightning lit the small room, followed by a clap of loud thunder.

Starsky flinched in my hold as if struck by a heavy blow. "Hutch." His eyes fluttered once, and his brow narrowed into a frown.

"Sorry, buddy." I lifted him a little higher in my embrace. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

"Uhmmm." I barely heard the reply as he snuggled nearer.

"Starsk, hold on. Just hold on."

He scarcely nodded, and I wasn't sure if he had actually heard. I could feel my partner slipping away from me, like water through cupped hands. I wanted to scream -- had to take several deep breaths not to, then I covered my mouth with my hand to calm myself down. He was still alive. I kept the mantra going in my head.

"He's still alive," I said quietly to the empty room, as if saying it would keep it that way.

I sat quietly, letting delicate fingers keep vigil on his heart rate along the side of his neck.

Suddenly the sound of excited voices and the clatter of a metal gurney hit my ears, and I nearly passed out in my relief.

"They're here, Starsky," I sighed heavily, watching his eyes dance open then shut again, as the guys in white came bursting through the office door.

"What's wrong with him?" One medic asked right away, struggling to shove the gurney through the small doorway. I noticed the name, Chaz stitched on his uniform.

"One bullet in his upper back, it's in deep, and the other grazed his temple," I said, feeling my own blood rushing in my ears, and a sick feeling fluttering in my stomach. "Help's here now, Starsk. They're going to take care of you," I said, not taking my eyes off him.

It was pure torture, but I stroked the side of Starsky's neck one last time, feeling his heartbeat, then moved to let the medics take over.

I moved to lean against the wall, trying to stop my hands from shaking, as the medics began fussing with urgent care over my wounded partner. Chaz started an IV, placed an oxygen mask over Starsky's mouth and nose while the other medic relayed my friend's weakened vital signs to the hospital.

"How about you? Are you okay?" Chaz raised his eyes to me. "Anyone else hurt?"

"I winged a man in the shoulder. He's out there." I gestured with a nod of my head toward the office door. "He's not bad off. Just--just --" my voice caught. "Just take care of my partner."

"We'll get to that guy in a bit, there's officers out there with him right now," Chaz told his partner. "We have to get this guy stable first."

I watched them work on Starsky, hoping my first-aid hadn't hurt him more that it helped. I mentally kicked myself for moving him; it couldn't have done him any good, not to mention slinging that jug and falling off the couch. I bit into my lower lip. Feeling the effects of adrenaline wearing off, I leaned heavier against the wall.

"Let's have a look at this," Chaz said.

And it wasn't until they removed the cloths from Starsky's back, and more blood spilled from the hole, that I almost lost consciousness myself. But no way I was going to skip out on my partner.

"How--how's it look?" I unclamped my bottom lip long enough to ask.

"Looks pretty bad," Chaz grunted under his breath, almost as if he forgot I was there. He glanced up at me "You called it, it's deep, and I'm pretty sure he is in shock." I felt my stomach dip. "Luckily, it looks like you thought fast, and staunched a lot of the blood flow with this contraption you rigged up." Chaz's eyes softened. "You probably saved his life," he said, going back to work.

I sucked in a breath watching Chaz's partner hand him a sponge, and clean up the fresh flow of blood. He then placed a thick square piece of gauze against the wound.

"Hold this down, tight, all right?" he instructed his partner, as he started to tape the gauze in place.

"Erhhh." Starsky drew in a sharp gulp of air, his lips pulling into a twist of pain, as his breathing got heavy.

The sound was so tinged with confusion and pain, I shifted and stood away from the wall, my body feeling hard as a rock. "What? What's wrong?" I yelled, knowing I was overreacting, but I didn't feel like I could trust anyone at this point.

Chaz looked at me and cocked his head. He must have sensed all that we'd been through because he had an earnest and very sympathetic look on his face.

The way he held a hand to Starsky's forehead, his thumb gently caressing his temple, calmed me some. "You don't know me, but I won't do anything to jeopardize him further." He waited for that to sink in, then told me what I already knew. "We have to move him now. It's going to cause him discomfort," he calmly and caringly explained.

I took a step forward and loomed protectively over my partner. He wasn't going anywhere without me.

"We're a package deal," I growled with a tone that could move heaven and earth.

The medics stole a glance with one another, comparing notes, I assumed. They reminded me of Starsky and I. What I wouldn't give to steal a glance with my partner right now. They wanted to argue the point but didn't say a word as I got the 'okay' nod, and they gently lifted my partner, and lowered him to the gurney, and strapped him in.

I watched a scowl appear on Starsky's face as he doggedly tried to open his eyes. I moved in close and put a hand to his shoulder so he would know I was there.

"Hutch," he called softly, his eyes slowly drifted open. "Wh' we go--goin'?" he slurred.

"Relax, pal, I whispered in a low soothing voice "We're going to finish this movie." I held Starsky's gaze, worried by the dull and far-off look in them. "Remember, Starsky -- good guys always win."

Starsky gave me a small smile. "That'd be us."

"That'd be us, partner," I confirmed.

TBC...Chapter three of four


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note:

The previous chapter (Ten Minutes After Midnight) was a bonus chapter.

The below chapter -- is marked as three

Thank you again my special friend, Laura for all her kind help and challenging me!

THE TICKING OF TIME

PART III

Summary: Epilogue The Shootout.

Hutch pov

Time slipped by a little faster now that we were out of that restaurant and Starsky was safe. A bone-chilling tired ache crept in replacing my earlier bravado, as I slid down further in the hard plastic chair. I had been watching television with the volume turned all the way down. Sick of lip reading-- I let my gaze drift from the old western to my partner lying in a hospital bed.

Surgery went well, the bullet was removed and my partner would survive. Maybe in a little while I'd go get a cup of coffee and a newspaper -- instead of watching silent movies.

"Hutch," Starsky whimpered in his sleep.

I quickly sat forward, reached out and lay a protective hand gently on his chest. "Easy, buddy."

The simple gesture seemed to settle him and I sat back as he continued to sleep off the anesthetic.

Time can play tricks on you when you're running on empty. My mind began to wander. There was little else for it to do, sitting in this drab room. I thought about all kinds of things. My first horse, Nevada. That quantum physics lecture at the university I attended. The first car accident I got into, totaling my dad's Jag. I didn't seem to have control over my thoughts. I tried to monitor them. Think only happy things. Puppies. Kittens. A good glass of Chablis. But sooner or later my thoughts went back to the ambulance ride here. If I thought time was slow in the restaurant, it had nearly stopped during the race to get my injured partner to the hospital. I remembered every bump, every corner we rushed around, every traffic light. Felt like I had counted every spin of all four tires against the asphalt.

Panic had surged through my veins as the paramedics scrambled to stabilize my partner. Starsky was really out of it by the time we had arrived at the hospital. His blood pressure was too low, his breathing shallow and his heartbeat erratic. The paramedics tried to keep me from entering the room where they'd wheeled my partner, but I squeezed past them.

"Hutch?" Starsky mumbled half incoherently. "Where --where are you?"

I positioned myself so Starsky could see my face, bending down low over him. "Closer than you think, pal." I smiled.

"Hutch?"

"I'm here, Starsk. We're at the hospital. Just hang on."

"Bad guys?"

"Finished, pal."

"Me too," Starsky said with a tremor in his voice, as he closed his eyes.

Something snapped inside me. The words gave me a sick feeling in my stomach, and I snatched his hand and held it tight.

"No, you're not, Starsky!" I sounded like Dobey again -- even to myself.

Out of my peripheral vision I watched Chaz nearly jump out of his skin. "Sorry," I said, giving him only a brief sideways glance.

I knew I had to keep it down or I was out of there. Chaz handed me a cool cloth. I took it and used it to mop the sweat off my partner's brow, while the medical staff began tending to Starsky's needs.

"Starsky, don't you talk like that," I said in a soft voice. "You give up on me and it'll be the last thing you do. You're going to be okay," I whispered in his ear. "Starsk, do you hear me? Don't you give up."

"Ain't given up -- nothin'," he whispered back, as he blinked open his eyes. "Finished -- with linguini and clams," he explained, as he made a valiant effort to smile just before his eyes disappeared up into his head.

"Starsky, no." I clasped his hand tighter. "Hey! Starsky!"

I lost it. In a split second my breath caught in my throat and I completely lost it. Every muscle that I had braced early for the fight -- went limp. Every supersensitive nerve ending that had been triggered by the bad guys -- wilted. Where back at the restaurant I'd sagged against the wall, now, I felt like I was crawling on hands and knees, the adrenaline rush pouring out of me in the form of sweat. If he died on me now -- I didn't know what I'd do.

A hand lunged out and gripped my forearm. "Take it easy, he's okay," Chaz stated slow and clear. "He's unconscious, but okay. Let's give the doctor some room to work."

I remembered shaking so hard. If he hadn't had a grip on my arm I'd have sunk to my knees, as I held my breath tight in my chest.

"You understand?" The medic asked in a calm voice. "Your partner is going to be okay."

I knew my partner was made of stronger stuff than I was giving him credit for, but right then all I could think about was: What if I lost him?

"Yes, but--"

A thumb stroked across my hand, startling me from my thoughts and brought me back to the hospital room where my partner was now recovering.

"You don't have to be here." The barely audible voice brought my gaze to meet Starsky's.

I could tell he was still in a dazed fog. The whole ordeal had left him shaky and feverish.

"Yeah, I do, pal," I said leaning closer so he could see me better.

"Yeah?" he questioned, and I could tell he was vaguely aware.

"Yeah," I confirmed.

Seeing my buddy awake took the edge off my nerves and I finally could drop my guard.

"You could use a shower." Starsky shifted uneasily.

"That's my partner, always watching my back." I tried to lighten.

"That's what partners do." Starsky's brow creased. "Agh!" He gasped as his fingers curled into the sheet, and his face turned ashen. "Damn!"

"Easy." I splayed my hand across his chest.

I could tell he lost his will to argue with me as he was trying to make his way through the pain.

"Tell you what, buddy, you get some more sleep and you can watch my back anytime you want," I offered.

"You're pretty good -- " Starsky moaned. "At watching your own back," he said, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Maybe I should have left. He needed his rest and my being here was keeping him from it. Besides, it was getting harder to force my tears of joy back, as relief thundered through me.

"You want me to go?" I asked.

"Don't." Starsky closed his eyes and reached his right hand up to cover mine.

I guessed it was his way of reassuring himself that I would stay close.

"Won't." I smiled, and listened to him breathe as he relaxed back into sleep.

TBC..

Final chapter coming soon

Thank you for riding along..


	5. Chapter 5

THE TICKING OF TIME

PART IV

Summary: Starsky pov. Final chapter.

Thank you once again to Laura -- for her tireless efforts and gracious way of weaving me around independent clauses, plurals, commas, extra spaces, and more.

Thank you for sharing time with me!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

My nose twitched, triggered by the smell of coffee and antiseptic. Then there was sound. The crinkle of paper. Someone sipping from a cup. The ticking of time. I had the sensation of descending from a cool and tranquil place only to crash-land in a hot unknown one.

I knew my name… David Starsky.

But that was all I knew.

I tried to feel confident in that little bit of knowledge -- but confidence is that feeling you have just before you really understand the situation. Not knowing is the worst situation, and for a split second, I wasn't sure about anything else. Where I was? Why I couldn't open my eyes? Was I supposed to be at work or was it my day off and I could sleep in? Perhaps that was why I didn't move a muscle. Or quiet possibly, I'd tied one on the night before and left a piece of me back at the bar? Maybe I was on a colorful bikini filled beach sunning myself? Maybe that was why I was so hot?

It took a minute of concentration but I was able to lift a hand up just a little. The action caused a sharp stab to radiate across my back, and I quickly let my hand fall back down.

"Uuhhh," I moaned, as the pain stunned me.

The sound of paper being folded filled my senses.

"Hey," a voice tenderly called, so close that I could feel the breathy whisper brush over my eyelashes.

The touch of a cool soft cloth came to my head and I managed to open my eyes a little finding myself staring up into the color blue.

Sky?

Ocean?

Sky?

I couldn't be certain.

There was that voice again and it mentioned a name. I didn't catch it but I knew the voice. Cautiously, I glanced around the small room: Yellow roses in a vase near a window. A blank television screen. A picture on the wall of two children walking hand in hand over a wooden bridge.

"Starsky, do you know where you're at?"

My mind flashed to another time -- another place: Heavy rain. Thunder in the night. A restaurant. A jukebox. House wine. A -ray - of - sunshine. The john. A jug. A wall. A pocketwatch…

My mind struggled through the twilight of sleep and restlessness.

My gaze came back to the color blue -- a face. I knew that face. I'd seen it a million times in a thousand places.

The pain in my back suddenly made sense as it returned to me. Funny how it was all at once.

"Starsk?" Hutch said, smiling broadly down at me. "You with me? Know where you are?"

I nodded, still gazing up into those eyes. If it wasn't for those eyes or that face I wouldn't be here. Wouldn't know where I was. As tired as I felt and as bad as my back was hurting I could still remember how the gunshots sounded so loud -- the reverberation traveling through me. How I had lost every ounce of strength and no matter how hard I wanted to, I hadn't been able to crawl to the door to help. To see if Hutch was okay. To know if he was alive or dead.

I remembered feeling like I could die in peace when Hutch finally did appear in the office, crouched down by my side after it was all over. How my buddy looked at me so scared, yet relieved. How I could see the veins in his neck standing at attention, his blood pumping hot and fast. How I could feel his breath travel across my neck, quickening and slowing in an uneven rhythm. I remember marveling at how he had kept it all inside of himself -- trying not to lose it.

"It's all over buddy," Hutch had said.

Although he kept his voice steady I could see the quiver in his lower lip, and the anxious tic twitching at the corner of his right eye.

I remember telling him 'I'm hungry.' I don't know why I said that. Guess I was trying to ease his worry.

I remember the guys in white saying 'the sooner we move him the better he will be.' I remember my partner, a driven man, worried sick about me. I wanted to keep talking to him, keep him in my sights, but I couldn't as everything turned black -- dark.

"Where?" Hutch urged me to answer, drawing me from my thoughts. "Where are you, Starsk?"

"Ain't--" I blinked several times, licked my lips, and took a moment to gather my breath. "Ain't -- the restaurant -- my grandmother lived over."

"No, buddy, it's not."

"H-how long have I b-been here -- like this?"

"Day and a half."

A day and a half? How'd time slip away so easily, I wondered. "You're kidding?" Hutch just shrugged. He wasn't kidding. "You stayed?"

"Sure," Hutch said, using his thumb to push back a piece of hair that hung down near my eye. "You remember what happened?"

"Took a hit in the shoulder."

"The back."

"Must have been something to see," I said, feeling lightheaded.

"Yeah, pal, you should have been there," Hutch laughed nervously as he took the cloth from my forehead and reached over for a cup that was sitting on the nightstand. "Sip slow," he said, holding the straw against my lips.

I sucked at the straw. The cold water going down my throat felt damned good.

"Good?" Hutch asked, plucking the thought from my brain as he took the cup away. "You can have more later."

My throat burned, dryer than hot sand. "M--ore," I croaked.

"Sorry, pal." Hutch paused, as if debating. "Doc's orders, gotta take it slow right now." He gave me a sympathetic smile.

I opened my mouth to argue but I knew I was too tired to try and win an argument with him right then, so I just nodded.

For a while we just looked at each other and I shared in his strength. There was something timeless about the moment. How quickly the danger had all come to pass and now here we both were. Safe. Hutch is tough as shit, but right now he looked like a kid who'd almost lost his best friend. That'd be me. My grandmother once told me, I'd better know which harbor I was headed for if I wanted to catch the right wind to take me there. I'm glad Hutch was a sea scout. He was the wind that got us to that harbor.

"W-what's the damage?" I asked breaking the soapy mood, and trying to forget how thirsty I was.

"Bullet's out. You're feverish right now, but you're going to be okay, Starsk."

The strain of relief in Hutch's voice was more than grateful. He must have really been scared.

"Went down like in the movies, huh?" I asked, feeling sleep pull at my eyes.

"Sure. Just like -- like the movies," Hutch stuttered.

I laughed, "Hmmmmmmm." Maybe it was more of a whimper, as pain shot through my back and down into my left arm, I held my breath tight in my chest.

"Sh, easy," Hutch said, as his fingers stroked my brow.

I shifted slightly on the mattress causing my whole body to quiver. "Oh, Hutch," I said between whimpers.

"Don't move so much just yet, pal," Hutch spoke soothingly.

Shifting in his chair, Hutch scooted closer laying a flat hand to my chest. His fingers from his other hand stroked my inner arm, feather soft, slowly, going higher up my arm then back down again.

I sighed. Actually, it was more of a mewling sound. Hutch's touch had magical powers, as the pain came down a notch or two. I could feel his hand steady on my chest, and my breathing deepened.

"Can barely keep my eyes open," I mumbled.

"Think you can take a little nap now, Starsk?"

"Think so." I closed my eyes. "You going somewhere?" I asked feeling a million miles away.

"Not going anywhere, Starsky, until you get some breakfast."

I frowned. Was I hungry? No, my stomach flipped and flopped just from the little water I had drank.

I wanted to tell Hutch to go home -- scrambled eggs were a long way off on my to do list, but I wasn't up for arguing right now, and I really was glad he was here.

There would be plenty of time for arguing later.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

TAG::: MISSING SCENE

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"You ever get the feeling you're all alone in this world? Nobody loves you?"

I was really disappointed everyone had left and I didn't get one laugh for the jokes I had studied so hard.

I shuffled from the middle of the room and shut the front door, the action stalling my breath and making me wince. There still was a lot of residual pain in my back and I got tired fast. Hutch and I had several arguments about me resting more and taking my pain pills. Had one just before our company arrived tonight.

"Did you take your pills?" he had nonchalantly asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Already told you why not."

"Starsky, did you sleep at all last night?"

"Not too much."

"You're slowing down the healing process, you know that, don't you?"

Now some partners could dutifully type up a report in no time at all. Others could smell a bank robbery days before it went down or the breath of a drunk before he ever got behind the wheel.

My partner's particular expertise?

He could mother hen a guy to death.

"Hutch, you're not my boss! Back off, will ya? Everyone will be here soon and I want to be clear-headed so we can do our comic routine."

"No, buddy, I'm not your boss," he said quietly just as the knock came at the door.

I had told Hutch to back off and he did -- right out the front door. How stupid could a guy get?

I shook my head at my own grouchy stubbornness. I hated the pills, didn't like the spaced out feeling they gave me. Hutch -- my best friend in all the world -- hell -- he was only doing his job. Keeping tabs on me. Watching my back. Like he had at Giovanni's. I had no business giving him such a hard time.

Careful to move slowly, I shuffled to the kitchen, got a glass of water, shook out two pills, popped them into my mouth, and swallowed. Then, just as slowly, I moved to the living room, flipped on a quiet jazz station on the radio, and stretched out on the couch to take a nap. I couldn't blame Hutch for deserting me. I'd really put him through the wringer. He'd been changing my bandages, helping me in and out of my shirts, cooking, cleaning, and listening to my comic routine all week. He needed a break. He was a mass of fluttering nerves ever since he dropped the tough and rough act he had had to put on at the restaurant.

I closed my eyes, feeling a little high and not feeling much pain, as the pills I just took were already spacing me out.

While I slept, I dreamed about Hutch and I. We stood square, side by side, on a deserted sandy beach, watching the ocean waves roll in and out. The wind blew through our hair, and streaming rays of violet and pink sunlight glowed on the horizon. I thought about my grandmother and her words about direction and the water -- it sparkled like silver glitter. Hutch settled an arm around my neck and hugged me to his side with a smile pulling on his lips. I could feel love welling up inside of me and I was reminded of the first day we met. I began to ponder a time before Hutch -- and I couldn't remember a time. It's as if -- as if somehow -- he was always with me, that time didn't exist. Ours was a friendship that couldn't be measured in years, days, months, due north or due south -- yet somehow we always ended up facing the right direction.

The sun had set and I opened my eyes, now back at my place. Immediately, I saw Hutch sleeping -- sitting up at the end of the couch by my feet. I know everything about my partner. His age, his weight, his height, likes, and dislikes, even know if he planned on shooting for the side-pocket or if he was going to go for the bank shot. Right now my partner's face looked tired, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. I looked at the clock and yawned. It was three a.m. Had I slept that long?

Tempus fugit.

It's Latin for 'time flies.' Hutch taught me that. He's taught me a lot of things like how --

"You awake?"

"Shit!" I startled, as Hutch nudged my foot with his hand. "Yes, I'm awake. Thought you were sleeping?" I rubbed at my eyes to clear the haze. "How long have you been here?"

"I never left, dummy." Hutch struggled not to laugh.

"Huh?"

"I hid in the closet -- waited until you took your pills -- knew you would, then I fell asleep."

"You what?"

"Starsky, have I ever cut and run on you before?"

I stared at him in disbelief. Hutch could be a real devil when he wanted to be.

I leaned back against the pillows and smiled. Humor. It's such a neutralizing tactic that we use often. Hutch and his magic bag of tricks had won. I had taken the damn pills. He sure knew how to score an A+ in deception, even if it was for my own good.

"How'd I get so lucky having a great partner like you?" I drawled out, it was my way of telling him he could be boss anytime he wanted to.

"I wish I knew, buddy -- I'm jealous." Hutch nudged my foot again, his laughter genuine.

"Funny." I closed my eyes.

**Time ticked on…**

After a while I called out to Hutch.

"Gonna crash now, Starsky."

"Hey, you know what?"

"What?" Hutch replied in a sleepy tone.

"Thanks, partner."

"Anytime. Can you go to sleep, Starsk?"

"Is this a trick question?"

No answer.

"Hutch?"

No answer.

"Hey?"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

I gotta hand it to my partner -- when he say's he's crashing -- he crashes.

The end.

Authors note: Starsky's grandmother was quoting 'Seneca' in her own way, when she was talking about catching the right wind. Seneca was a Roman Philosopher.

--

If a man knows not what harbor he seeks, any wind is the right wind.

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End file.
